Questions I Have Left

The questions
I have left
fall into
two categories:

unimportant chatter,
or clearing smoke
from a mirror —

how much time?
How much pain?
How much pleasure?
How much joy?
How much sorrow?
Once again, how much time?

Then I go into the backyard
and there’s one reddish squirrel
under the huge maple
in the same shade
where the robins feed,
robins who never come
to the front yard
where the chattering
below the feeders
has been incessant from dawn
through dusk
for all my time.

Would I have been a better man
if I’d seen this earlier, spent more time seeing this?

Why have I stayed in the front room
behind the windows all these years?

And again,
how much time do I have left?